Bad Boy
by Pervy Otaku
Summary: ScotFran, UA, lemon... Francis was bored and finally found a way to get something exciting.


**Rating: **M

**Pairing: **ScotFran

**Warning: **Only good stuff ! Alastair topping, spanking, rimming and some nice dirty talk.

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia isn't mine. And if it was mine, Scotland would be canon and in love with Francis a good lot ~

**Ramblings: **So I posted this on Tumblr, but I guessed I could also post it here for the lack of ScotFran that there is ! It was originally a request from an awesome person over the site, also !

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**Bad boy**

_By Pervy Otaku_

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It wasn't as if they never tried it differently, over the long years they were together. It was more like Francis had always loved to try new things, but Alastair didn't really like change. Much like all of his brothers, he was more the type to settle to one thing-and he was always saying he liked the usual way a lot. Pretty much making sex boring for such a wild spirit like Francis, who pouted and crossed his arms each time he was being courted by anyone else. This damn Scotsman was so lucky he loved him like that. If it had been anyone else, ever, he would have probably just ran off with them for a quick fuck behind some store, just for the heck of it being so... exciting ?

But once that he saw Alastair's stare for these men and women as he was mostly thanking them, not even anything else, he wanted to poke the bear with not a stick, but a sword. Each time he head that he looked lovely, charming or beautiful; he would slip into his good old flirty mode and reply to everything. He would smile, being even more seductive than he needed to be to wake up Alastair's sexual appetite—which had never been hard; sitting on his laps and playing innocent seemed to make his want peak to its highest in a matter of seconds.

It never grazed his mind before that doing such things made his longtime boyfriend go completely jealous, possessive and he would mark his territory almost right away. They would get home and not even out of the hall, Alastair would be looming over him from his much taller height, looking at him with both angry and hungry eyes, ready to devour him. Then he would play hard to get, refuse him any attention and never faltering to even his own lust — he felt like a dryad letting a satyr think he would catch it, and it felt damn good to be wanted so much —, which seemed to make the other man think of what he could do to have his beautiful boyfriend in his bed again.

But then, it had been over than three week that Francis had been playing with Alastair's want, and he could only imagine what kind of things they could do together. How Alastair would be pounding into him, angrily making love to him, calling him his and making much more hickeys than usual and it only took that to make him sigh and shiver in delight. This plan was working, as this damn bear's brain was working, and it was also working on _himself_. He couldn't wait for his lover to just jump on him and just take him right there. He groaned, feeling his dick stir to life, and reached out to rub at it, biting his lower lip with a low moan. Francis knew he couldn't fail now. This had to work.

"What are ye doin' ?" The gruff voice made him jump looking back as he was caught with his hand over his pants, not even doing anything, but all he could read in the man's eyes was _fury_. Complete fury of being ignored while his boyfriend was just casually sitting in front of the TV, blasting out some song that was popular in America now. "So yer jus' gonna let me rot when ye can have yer own hand and a thousand people wanting _what's mine_ ?" Then his hand was over his dick, compressing it through his pants, making him moan at the gesture, and shiver as he was now knowing even more that Alastair wanted him. "Maybe I should teach ye a lesson, uh ? Cause ye're now being an ass. And that's what ye've been wantin' uh ?"

The Frenchman could only nod, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, waiting for the time he would just flip him over to the almost all open curtain of the living room's window, not even minding lube now, but he wouldn't care — he had been aroused for all the week, he didn't really care about hurting for now . His pants were yanked away roughly, exposing his ass and a hand grabbed his hair, making him yelp as he was looking back to the smug smile Alastair was giving him. "Ye've been a bad boy, ye know that ?" The first slap made had him too surprised to even answer, actually stinging at the skin as the grip in his hair tightened. "Ye hear ? Tell me ye've been a bad, _bad_ boy." Then came two other slaps as he let out a loud mewl which was still half a cry of surprise and pain as he nodded quickly, feeling his heart thump in his chest. This was so much more than he ever hoped. "That's not what I want… say it !"

The next slap made him gasp even louder, almost crying out in both pain and ecstasy as he jerked forward and caught himself on the couch's back, head poking at the curtain, everything stilling for a second, a bit awkwardly. Alastair's grip in his hair lessened, and Francis knew he was fearing that he had hurt him more than he had intended to, too much in his blind, lusty fury to realize his strength. Not wanting things to end now, Francis turned to him with an apologetic look, blushing in lust and panting gently, saying in a jumbled English, "I… I am… I'm sorry, love… I, I have been a bad boy… you should pu-punish me more than that. _I deserve it._"

Now the smirk on the Scotsman's face came back, as he had been feeling horrible for hurting his lover before, but now it seemed the pain was actually another one of his lover's kink—it felt actually weird to be ten years his senior and still be damn surprised at how much things this twenty years-old liked. Well, who was he going to blame ? It wasn't like he didn't like discovering new things. Alastair brushed the abused flesh gently, earning some soft moans at that before going back to another slap, this time a bit less hard than the last going, and felt his own want flare up at the new moan.

Kicking the coffee table out of the way to be able to kneel down behind him, still rubbing at the abused flesh to spread his behind apart and feeling ever there the shiver that ran through Francis, just loving how he was now as he licked his hole, letting the moans he earned feed his lust before jamming a finger in roughly, just wanting to stretch him enough to accommodate his large girth and the lack of lube that was annoying him—but he feared that if he left him there, unlooked at, anyone around would come to steal him. It wasn't a rational fear, Alastair knew, but it was just overwhelming. So he just kept stretching him, giving again a couple of hard struck over the rapidly colouring skin, going from a pristine shade to an angry red.

Francis just gripped the couch, his nails digging in the fabric, panting and quickly pushing back on his lover's fingers, feeling so damn eager and almost crazy from want after only just that, not even touching his cock when it was already that hard. Alastair's name became a mantra, something he repeated as if it was the last word he knew in some kind of weird senility, his eyes rolling behind his head and jerking awake with a hiccup at another slap. This would bruise, he was sure, and make sitting uncomfortable, but right now he didn't care — he was too lost in lust from the apologetic licks going from his balls to entrance, all the touches making him one edge and just held tighter on the couch, swallowing some saliva and slightly chocking on it while kisses were showered around both the heated and untouched skin of his behind.

Now pitying his Frenchman a bit, Alastair stood up again, tugging his pants down with a couple of gruff curses for his belt—he still wasn't an expert on unbuckling it with a single hand—and slowly eased in, closing his eyes and sighing at the soft and welcoming heat. Knowing they had no lube, just a bit of saliva that would quickly dry, and still being the same soft, gentle man behind all his rough exterior, he waited, smirking a bit as he carried on running his hands over the soft skin of Francis' back and ass, waiting for him to get impatient and push back with an angry pant, looking at him with these damn eyes, just making his smirk wider as the Scotsman couldn't resist to start moving right when he was about to speak, making whatever word that would come out of his mouth a long, strangled moan that just made him forget all his thoughts about being nice and slam harder into him—after all, he could take it, right ?

"C' mon, princess. Don't hide yer voice from me, or I'll jes' rip it from yer throat." His hands gripped the narrow hips, smashing them in times with his trusts, using only one hand as the other one rubbed a sore spot before hitting it again. "After all, a bad boy should be pleasin' who he's been displeasin', should he not ?" Alastair gained a quick nod and a couple of mashed French words, just being able to make out what looked like a moaned "_oui_", and carried on, keeping on the same kind of pattern and being surprised at how much he enjoyed the act like that. Just now, he discovered that he had been quite a lot as an old man, and even when he was thirty, he didn't want to look like that—fuck, his brother was seventeen and acted more like his own age than he did.

Leaning over an arching back, an hand sneaking into the long sleeved shirt of the man underneath him, liking to hear him mewl and rub against it like a cat in heat, needy, sexy, all that he needed to pinch his nipple and ask him lowly in his ear, the beard he didn't shave for a good week rubbing against it as he asked, "Tell me ye like it. I wanna hear ye more… I want the neighbor to fuckin' know I know how to fuck ye. To know me name even when I never spoke to him, ever." At first he guessed that the fact Francis lowered his head and pressing his rosy lips together was a no, something he shouldn't push on before he reached, so pliant under him and flexible enough to grip his head and nodded, his eyes almost hid by a thin layer of hair, but showing an erotically red face and foggy violet eyes, as a clear word was heard.

"_Oui… oui_…" It was soft at first, a silence only cut by the loud music on the telly they couldn't hear anymore over their moans, and Alastair would have kissed him if he hadn't spoke again, louder than ever as his accent butchered every words in lovely ways, something he craved to hear more and slammed harder in his ass, stroking it again firmly as he screamed his name. "Like that ! _S'il te plait, s'il te plait_… don't, _ne_… aah… don't stop…" He continued, but even if he was clearer than ever, the words were in a messy mix of French and English, and all he could hear was the moans, the _plus fort_, the _more_…

It took both of them less than fifteen minutes to come, pressed against each others, panting, sometimes losing themselves in a messy kiss, pulling away to breathe and moan, so breathless that Francis wondered how they were even going on now. Another slap and word, something lost as they stopped, looking down at the cum on the couch and too tired to care about it as Francis let himself fall against Alastair, now sitting on his laps on the ground and trying to catch his breath after something so… well, this was the excitement he had been looking for. Something different the Frenchman wanted. He wasn't saying the missionary or sideway was bad, but… this was quite different. And it just made him smile dumbly, dreamily…

"You… you broke the table." He pointed out, just finding it funny, now.

"Ye said it was ugly. All the time."

Francis laughed, taking his hand in his own to entangle his fingers and shrugged. They would have to go shopping, something he liked and always loved to see Alastair lift heavy things, just to see his muscles rolls under his skin.

A short silence followed, and then the redhead spoke, "Mmh… did I… hurt ye ?"

"Do you need to worry about that ?" But the unsure face Alastair was making was so endearing, since he was in fact a bear, but more of a giant teddy bear than anything else. Hiding the fact he was more gentle and kind than most behind a frown and a gruff look and voice. Truly, he was like a grizzly, to him, but a mother grizzly—in the sense he was always looking out to him, checking whatever made him let out any hiss of pain and fretting over it adorably. Francis smiled, petting his beard, and kissed him gently. "I would never blame you for hurting me when I liked it."

Strong arms wrapped over his middle during the quick kiss. Truly, he knew that was jealousy that made him get like that; the want of attention that made him stray a bit… But was there any ways he would spoil all of what they had for just a quick fuck ? He was in love, never denying it, and just a simple kiss made him feel even more wanted than all the sex.

That was enough to make him sing serenades and love songs all the week that would follow.


End file.
